


(Mis)Adventures with the Arclites

by Scattered_Irises



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Bad Parenting, Cheapskate Arclights, Coarse Humor, Comedy, courtesy of Thomas, out of chronological order, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scattered_Irises/pseuds/Scattered_Irises
Summary: They’re called ArcLITEs for a reason. They’re so cheap, they can make pennies scream. Despite their insane wealth, playing cheap is how they keep money out of...(Disdainful sniff) the common folks’ hands. Follow them on their fun (And most likely free) adventures!These short stories are written from prompts given by Trickbuster...Bless them.





	1. If I buried a backscratcher I used to scratch my ass with, would it be considered treasure 5000 years later?

**Author's Note:**

> For all of you who are looking for drama and angst, may I kindly redirect you to The Illusion of Reunification? But if you’re looking for a quick laugh, snort or chuckle, I invite you to stay. You have most likely found the right place. Either that or you were looking for a cheap vacation travel blog and mistakenly went here.

The prompt was "The Arclights go to a museum"

 

Throughout the entire ride to the history museum, Michael would not shut his pretty little mouth up about all the artifacts he was excited to see. He wore a cute little shirt that looked like it had been fished out of a children’s department store and shorts that were patterned with dinosaurs. His baseball cap that had map patterns all over it only made him look even more the part of a 10-year old wannabe archaeologist. It was all part of the disguise.

When the car finally stopped, Thomas felt as if he had experienced the past 5000 years of history all over again. Stumbling out of the van, he had to make sure his disguise was still intact. The weird plaid hipster vest, the red scarf, the green polo shirt and khaki shorts brought attention away from his face, which was shaded by black sunglasses and a leather cap. It was his usual homeless hipster disguise that would deter away the most determined fangirl.

Christopher and Tron stepped out of the van. Tron opened the trunk, took out a stroller and unfolded it. Like the child he was supposed to be, he sat himself in the seat and buckled the belt. Sure, he looked a little bit too old for a stroller but it made the price of tickets go down a bit. There were a bunch of kids that were 8 who still rode in strollers. When they got to the ticket counter, the receptionist quietly handed out 4 tickets. 2 adult and 2 children. Despite being insanely wealthy, the Arclights had always been habitual penny pinchers.

"You should have brought father’s cane and wore a fake beard," chuckled Thomas to Christopher. "You could’ve gotten a senior discount."

His brother paused a bit, contemplating the suggestion. He nodded a bit.

"Remind me to do that next time."

"We’re already robbing the museum $30 in revenue..," mumbled Michael sadly.

"They’re robbing US," snorted Thomas. "35 dollars for one adult ticket is a ripoff."

"Well, I think it’s worth it. Besides, the money is used to maintain the artifacts..," protested Michael.

"35 bucks to look at old crap that you can’t even touch is absurd," muttered Thomas as they came into the Egyptian artifacts. "If I buried a backscratcher that I used to scratch my ass with in the backyard, would it be considered treasure 5000 years later?"

Michael shrugged.

"People have discovered stranger things..."

"Then would Chris’s VKai porn collection be considered treasure?" sneered Thomas.

Christopher elbow jabbed Thomas in the stomach and the latter tumbled past the velvet cord. Before Thomas could realize it, he fell against a large vase...which fell onto another vase...which fell onto another...and another...until the largest vase collapsed on a small golden pyramid pendant. Screams followed and Thomas took off his glasses to survey the destruction he had brought on. Well. Something exciting finally happened.

"THE MILLENNIUM PUZZLE!!!" screamed Michael as he ran over to the rubble.

"IS THAT IV?!" screeched a female voice.

Thomas felt the blood drain out of his face and he rushed to put his sunglasses back on. Voices began to fill the room and Thomas began to look around in panic. Tron and Christopher were nowhere to be seen. His sneaky bastard of a brother had wheeled his father somewhere else amidst the chaos. Now, he was surrounded by a crowd of screaming fangirls. Michael was no help as he was busy sobbing over the destruction of history.

In the distance, Thomas heard the museum’s security guards trying to part the sea of fangirls. No matter what he was going to do, things were going to end badly. But hey, his family sort of had it coming. They had been taking advantage of the museum (and other places that sell tickets by age) all their lives.


	2. Hotel Cancun

The prompt was "Arclites go to a haunted hotel"

 

Byron had decided to cheap out. Yet again. The Arclights had gone to Cancun on Spirit airlines. Thomas ended up vomiting on his lap because they didn’t offer airsickness bags unless you asked and instead of helping, the flight attendants laughed at him. Well, that only made Byron none too sue happy. The case was done on the plane, since there was an attorney on board and the Arclights came out $100,000 richer than they had entered.

Still, that didn’t convince Byron to rent a nice hotel. When the Arclights arrived at their hotel, Thomas let out a long sigh.

"I vomited up my overpriced airport bagel for this???" he wheezed.

The hotel in front of them was decrepit. Mold grew up the sides and the roof was moss covered. Byron patted his son on the shoulder.

"We’ll have lots of fun in Cancun, so what’s the point of sleeping in a luxurious room?"He asked cheerfully.

The brothers all knew it was gonna be some form of cheap, free fun.

"To not get STDs or bed bugs..," muttered Thomas.

Byron let out a laugh.

"You can still have fun with AIDS/STDs if you take care of yourself correctly. Just ask any trashy celebrity!"

The brothers stared at their father as he hauled their baggage into the "hotel". Reluctantly, they followed him into the decrepit building. When they entered it, it smelled as if something had died at the receptionist’s desk. Thomas almost threw up what was left of his bagel.

"Your room will be 666," grumbled the receptionist as she handed Byron the keys.

She looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Her hair was a shocking shade of blue and wrinkles filled her entire face. Swollen fingers clacked on the rickety computer in front of her and she grumbled a smoky grumble whenever the screen flickered. It was like she was a living bag of skin.

Byron turned towards his sons and smiled.

"Come on, sons! Let’s go see our room in paradise!"

The room was as trashy as they had expected it. There were only two beds and they looked as if they were on the verge of falling apart. The floor beneath them was sticky and the bathroom smelled like a dead rat.

"I’m fucking sleeping in the trees tonight," said Thomas.

"Oh don’t be such a bad sport, Tommy. You can sleep with me!" laughed Byron as he unloaded their belongings.

"No, I think I’m gonna sleep in the bathtub, if that’s alright."

——

Despite saying that, Thomas found himself under the arm of his annoying father who was snoring right into his ear. When he checked the bathtub, it had a dead...thing in it. With bugs crawling out of its black flesh. Yeah, sleeping with his dad (who always smelled strongly of Polo cologne) was the better option. He looked at the weird markings in the ceiling and tried to bore himself to sleep. Until he heard a knock at the door.

"Get your ass a fucking watch. Do you even know what time it is?" growled Thomas as he pushed his drooling father away from him.

"It’s time for you to let me in and meet your doom," boomed a voice,

"I’m already doomed, sleeping with my dad," answered Thomas.

"Let me in," demanded the voice.

"Suck a big fat cactus," called Thomas.

There was a stir in the bed besides Thomas.

"Who are you talking to...?" mumbled Michael.

"Some punkass loser wanting to sleep with us," snapped Thomas. "We don’t have room! We’re sleeping two to a bed as tiny as your mom’s ass crack!"

He heard Michael fall back asleep. The knocking began again.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You can be the prime minister of Dickfordshire for all I care."

There was a pause.

"I am the ghost of this haunted hotel."

"Yeah? Well you sound like an upgrade from the receptionist."

Another pause. Then there was a sigh.

"Will you let me in so you can meet your doom?"

"I’m already fucked as can be, buddy."

Then there was the loudest sigh yet. It felt as if a wind blew through the hotel room, alleviating the oppressing heat.

"If you say so."

The sounds of feet walking away followed. Thomas grumbled and closed his eyes. What little chances he had left to sleep were slowly rising back to the surface.


	3. A Shave and a Haircut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was Christopher gets a haircut

"Father, I think I need a haircut..," mumbled little Christopher as he toddled into the dining room.

Byron looked from his paper. It was a bit true that his son’s silver locks had begun to grow unruly...But he could hold on for a few more months, right? Okay, a bird’s nest was a bit of an understatement. It was one of those blackberry bushes that ran wild on the side of the highway that had more thorns than berries. Y’know, the ones that are just left there for years and years to grow uninhibited until they’re razed down to build a fancy apartment complex or something. Turning to the coupons section of the paper, Byron grimaced.

$15 for a haircut was an absurd price. He would have none of that capitalist crap. Folding the newspaper in his lap, he stood up and walked towards his son. He examined his son’s hair in closer detail and a shiver ran down his back. If he went to the barber’s, they would have charged him $15 AND some more for that mess of hair Christopher had. But he knew a good solution.

"I’ll be right back, Christopher," said Byron as he walked into the garage.

"Are you getting the car so we can go to the barber?" asked Christopher sweetly.

Byron let out a bark of laughter and closed the garage door behind him.

When he came back with a pair of hedge clippers, Christopher screamed and covered his head.

"Oh, come over here Christopher. I promise it doesn’t hurt," encouraged Byron.

"NO!" screamed Christopher.

"Don’t make me come over there..," warned Byron.

Christopher whimpered and backed up as Byron approached him.

"See, I just take a little bit off the top and we’ll touch up the rest with kiddie safe scissors, alright?" said Byron.

His son continued to shake his head. Sighing, Byron looked his son in the eye.

"It’s your fault you let your hair get this bad," he said.

"THAT’S VICTIM BLAMING!" screeched Christopher.

For a little 6 year old, that was kinda surprising to hear from. Shrugging, Byron set down the pair of hedge clippers and beckoned for his son to come.

"It won’t hurt."

"Why are you always so cheap?!" sulked Christopher

"BECAUSE CAPITALISM!" snapped Byron as he picked up the pair of hedge clippers and proceeded to chase Christopher around.

Christopher’s little 6 year old legs didn’t take him very far. Before he knew it, he was seated in a chair and Byron was hacking away bits of tangled hair with a hedge clipper. It was honestly kind of horrifying to watch. After 5 minutes, there was just a small halo of uneven tufts left. That was when Byron took out a pair of kiddie scissors and gave it to his son.

"Here, Chris. You’re your own barber now."

Then Byron went to sit in a corner and mess around on Tinder or whatever they have in the future.

Hesitantly, Christopher began to cut away the remaining pieces of hair until he couldn’t find another piece in his reach. After the hedge clippers, this was actually pretty fun. Then he called for his father. Reluctantly putting down his phone, Byron surveyed Christopher’s work. He nodded in approval and then pulled out a razor.

"See, Chris? We just saved ourselves 15 bucks. We could use that to have a shopping spree in the sales aisle or something."

His son nodded and watched as his father prepared the razor.

Once everything was done, Byron handed his son a mirror. An earsplitting scream erupted and Byron quickly covered his ears. It was better to ignore his son than to risk getting sent to the hospital for burst eardrums. Going to the hospital wasn’t cheap. When the screaming stopped, Byron hesitantly pulled his hands away from his ears to hear sobbing.

"Why did you do this, dad?" sniffled Christopher. "I’m bald as an egg."

Gently, Byron patted Christopher on the shoulder and kissed him on his now hairless head.

"Take one for the team, my son. Taking it all off will save us a bunch of money in the future, since it takes awhile for hair to regrow."

"That’s not helping, dad." 

"I’m sorry you feel that way, Chris."

 

Christopher let out a sigh and turned to Kaito.

"And that is the reason why I do not like to have my hair cut," he finished angrily.

"Yeah, I can see that," says Kaito as he looks at Christopher’s river of silver.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Christopher leaned back and closed his eyes.

"My father has traumatized me so horribly that I haven’t cut my hair in 9 years."

"What about your split ends?" asked Kaito.

"I burn them off. Once I burned almost everything off but I’ve practiced a lot so it doesn’t happen anymore."

Kaito raises a concerned eyebrow.

"How did that even happen?"

His ex-mentor gives him a dirty look.

"What do you think happened?"

"Oh."

There were some rare moments in his life that Kaito was thankful for a father who didn’t care like Dr. Faker. This was one of those times.


	4. How Many Nose Jobs has Byron had???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Christopher learns football" or something like that. I hope you guys are all right with southern Tenjos.

“Ya see, Chris, to play All American Football TM   , you need to keep your eye on the ball, but also focus on your hand. See, fingers overlappin’ them here laces as so…”

 Dr. Faker’s Buff And Tough Southern Male American English TM drifted through the backyard of the Arclight gardens. Byron couldn’t help but glare out the window as he heard his boss explain to his son the basics of the vulgar sport of American football. Who the heck wants to play American football? With all those concussions and sports injuries, only the craziest would want to play such a sport. He sat back in his wicker chair and glared as Faker made an excellent pass. It was impressive (He grudgingly conceded) for such a skinny and elderly man to be capable of such actions. 

 The football spiraled through the air and landed into a bush. A shout followed after as Kaito’s blonde head popped out. In his hand was the football, clumsily held. With the other hand, he rubbed his forehead painfully. 

 “Football’s freakin’ stupid,” snapped Kaito as he tossed the ball (Badly) at his dad (Who caught it with a bit of difficulty.). 

 Faker shrugged and thumbed at Christopher.

 “Well ‘least there’s someone round these parts who seems a bit interested,” he said to Kaito. 

 “Yeah, I hope you still have a fun time after you get a concussion,” countered Kaito. 

 “Can that southern sass, boy,” warned Faker. “I’d rather you be able to play football than have a mouth like your momma.”

 “We’ll see who’s laughin’ when they throw their back out tryin’ to throw a Hail Mary!” yowled Kaito as he dove into the bush. 

 Byron couldn’t help but let a smile fill his face as he entered the garden. 

 “How about you try to teach your son the noble art of... _ American football  _ while I teach my son rugby?” asked Byron. 

 Faker shrugged. 

 “The boy absolutely hates the sport. I’ve tried and failed. But look at Chris!”

 Byron’s spindly son waved at him. Ah yes, he was perfectly built for football. The football was wider than Christopher’s calf and it looked plain weird in Christopher’s long fingers. 

 Rolling his eyes, Byron made his way towards Christopher. 

 “When I was your age, I was in university and played rugby.” 

 “Isn’t that just British American Football?” his son asked dully.

 “No. It wasn’t. It’s a lot more elegant.”

 In the background, Faker snorted and Byron glared at him. 

 “I was a terror in the fields. They called me The Maniac because whenever I ran the ball down the field, I always left a field of carnage behind me.”

 “That sounds violent,” noted Christopher.

 “Not as bad as American football. Anyways, I left a field of carnage behind me because whenever I ran, I held the ball in one hand and twirled my braid like a whip in the other.” 

 “What the heck Byron,” said Faker. 

 “Anyways, how about rugby?” chirped Byron cheerfully.

 Christopher looked at Byron in mild horror.

 “I’d still rather play American football.”

 In the background, Faker fist pumped. 

 Turning towards Faker, Byron said, “Why don’t you go teach the sport to Haruto or someone else? I’ll teach Chris..(It took all of Byron’s self control to not roll his eyes.)  _ American football.  _ Besides, how hard could it be?”

 He then snatched Faker’s football and handed it to Christopher. 

 “Now, the first thing you want to do is to learn how to punt.”

 “What?”

 “It’s easy. I’ll hold the ball like this and then you just kick it.” 

 “Alright then.”

 Being the flimsy nerd he was, Christopher pulled his leg back and kicked the ball right into his father’s face. Byron felt the blood rush out of his nose and he instinctively held his hand to his face. 

 “Oh my goodness, are you alright?! I’m so sorry father...I-”

 Byron held up a hand silencing his son.

 “Q-quite alright, my dear boy. I just need...another nose job and I’ll be good as new.”

 “This is coming out of my allowance, isn’t it?” mumbled Christopher.

 “What do you think?” 

 Somewhere in the bushes, one could hear Kaito’s wicked laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put your guess on how many nose jobs Byron's had in the comments!


	5. Free Gifts Are Good But Sometimes Hard to Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was Thomas tries to vandalize the Kamishiro mansion but gets stopped with a bunch of Home Alone-esque traps.

  "Hehe I hope Shark likes dicks'n'shit for his new wallpaper," chuckles Thomas as he drives up to the Kamishiro mansion.    


In a dark, inconspicuous van, no one would notice that Thomas Arclight would be going to vandalize the Kamishiro's house. Armed with a bag full of paint cans, Thomas goes up to the front door. Along with vandalizing the house, he was planning to steal a few trinkets for Christmas presents. Surely they had a few things they didn't need that would be much more useful in Christopher, Byron or Michael's hands. Michael would love some of the artifacts the Barians surely had holed up behind those walls. Christopher could probably get an obscure book or two. And Byron...well...maybe a rotten banana because that's pretty much what he deserved. The Kamishiros weren't home because Shark posted on his Duelistgram that they'd be going to Barian World for a vacation. Who the heck would want to go to alien hell for vacation? Well, it must have been family stuff then. He checks his phone one more time and notices that Rio has uploaded a vacation photo on her Duelistgram. Her muscular legs are facing towards the sea of ill intent, a nasty looking sun-Crystal thing setting. Her attempt at a nice-beach-sunset with-legs was ruined by the shitty Barian atmosphere. The sky was too red, the sand too crystally and spiky. Her skin seemed a sickly red shade in the photograph and the black scarab creatures weren't helpi ng either. The crystals jutting out of the shitty sea was a nice touch but they were ruined by their crumbling facades. Ugh. It just wasn't aesthetically pleasing. 

  
    Clicking his phone off, Thomas puts his hand on the doorknob and lets out a yelp. It's incredibly hot. Well, he'll just have to go through the back door. Unfortunately, the stairs leading to the back door were covered in tar. After Thomas lost one Gucci boot, he gave and decided to crawl in through the window. When he puts his hands on the windowsill, he was relieved to feel that it wasn't booby trapped. Giving out a grunt of effort, he heaves the window up. The window gives a creak of protest and Thomas grumbles as he tries to squeeze through.   
    When he lands on the ground, he screams because the floor is covered in nails. The Kamishiros really needed to clean up! Someone could have gotten tetanus. Luckily, Thomas had already gotten his tetanus shot a few days ago, after an unfortunate incident with a rust fence. Hopefully the shot still worked. Wiping his blood on the walls, Thomas carefully picks his way through the quiet hallways. He gets to the stairs and rubs his hands. Vandalizing first. Pilfered gifts later. Soon, he'd get to Shark's bedroom.   

  
    But as he's about to take the first step, he hears the sound of a tripwire being activated. He's suddenly bombarded by a bunch of marbles. Slipping and falling on his ass, Thomas begins to wonder if vandalizing his frenemy's mansion was actually worth it. Looking up the stairs, he lets out a groan as the stairs are also covered in marbles.  With much difficulty, he makes it up the stairs. It takes awhile (and a few traps, including a burning iron), but he's finally able to find Ryoga's room. It's unmistakable, with the shark posters and band paraphernalia. Each of the Barian's rooms were pretty much unmistakable. Even the Barians he didn't know very well had their rooms decked out to match their personality. Mizael's had Chinese character scrolls across his walls on one side while the opposite side had a bunch of K-pop posters. Oh and his fabulous (But not as fabulous as Thomas's) outfits were hanging proudly on mannequins. Vector's looked like something from a Fifty Shades of Grey knockoff. Gilag's had a few bonsai trees and motivational animal posters. There were Sanagi-chan posters everywhere on the ceiling and his bedroom floor was covered in clothes. He could tell Durbe's room easily. There were shelves and shelves of books on every wall. It seemed like Durbe's bed was its own little fortress, with walls of bookshelves surrounding it. All it needed was a moat full of alligators. Alit's room was bright red and his windowsills were full of flowers. It smelled like musky cologne and the bed wasn't made. A poster of John Cena with a heart drawn around his head was posted above Alit's headrest. Rio's room was locked, but he could tell it was hers. The neat handwriting posting rules of conduct in her room told of everything. Even if it wasn't unlocked, he'd be scared of entering.

  When he walks into Ryoga's room, he hears the sound of a gun being loaded. What the...? Whirling around, he's face to face with Ryoga Nasch "Shark" Reginald Kastle Kamishiro.    


  "Dude I thought you were on vacation!" exclaims Thomas.   


   Shark's hair is unkempt and his eyes are bloodshot.   


  "Everyone forgot about me."   


 

  The rifle in his hands intimidatingly gleams in the dim light.    


   "Now will you tell me what you're doing here?" growls Shark.   


   " Uh...dicks'n'shit?" squeaks Thomas.    


  Shark gives the rifle another threatening click.    


  "I have advice for you," breathes shark.    


  "Y-yeah?" stammers Thomas, the bag full of spray cans feeling very heavy.   


  "Run."   


 

  Well, Goodwill's would always be there for someone like him.


	6. This morning I put together this interesting combination of toast and cheese...Congratulations, you made grilled cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Christopher gets a job at Subway's"

 

 

"Get off your ass, Chris and go get a job or so help me, I will kick your sorry ass out of this here house," snapped Tron as he entered Christopher's room.

 

In the dark cave that was Christopher's room, Tron saw a pile of blankets slowly move. Sanagi-chan's singing filled the room but it was soon muted as the pile made its way to the door. The moving mass of blankets smelled like stale pocky and nerd sweat. Tron grimaced and yanked the blankets off. When the blankets came into the light of day, Tron grimaced as they all had weeb patterns on them. Honestly, what kind of weirdo owned a comforter cover featuring anime tiddies? Once Tron was able to yank off all the gross covers (He'd have to call a hazmat team after this), he glared at the creature underneath it all.

 

  Christopher Arclight. His oldest, most laziest son. When did it all go wrong? He had a degree in big sciences or something. But if Tron could recall correctly, the last time Christopher applied for a job, he was narrowly rejected. It was something along the lines of Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Stephen Hawking's ghosts telling him that he deserved the job because he was a privileged white boy. Honestly, his eldest son's dreams were more concerning than his at times. He'd need to have a talk about that some day. But onto the current situation...

 

  The young man's hair was tied in multiple, messy clumps. Some were ponytails, some were messy buns and some was a gross mix of both. Tron almost vomited as he saw all the glitter, pencils, sticky hair clips and candy that was stuck in Christopher's hair. To make matters even trashier, Christopher wore a dirty tank top that was dirty enough to cook a bowl of phở and a pair of boxers that looked as if he had had more than one session of "making himself happy." Bits of food were stuck in his growing beard and his eyes were bloodshot. Ah yes, a modern day vampire.

 

  It took all of Tron's self control to not scream for a hazmat team to carry his son off and decontaminate him.

 

  "Go get a fucking shower and a nice pair of clothes. I'm taking you to Subway's for a job interview," snapped Tron.

 

Christopher scratched his ass and wearily blinked at Tron.

 

"Why?" he asked, sounding like a lost child.

 

"Because, out of all my three sons, you are the most laziest, fucking cunt I've had to deal with. Even Thomas has a fucking job on the professional dueling circuit!" screeched Tron.

 

"What about Michael?" mumbled Christopher as he cleared the crumbs away from his stubble. "He doesn't have a job."

 

"He's the school drug dealer and he rakes in more cash than you ever will at this rate! Now go take a fucking bath or else I will take all of your shitty anime shit and throw it into my vortex face," threatened Tron.

 

That got Christopher to move his ass.

 

* * *

 

  "So what are your job experiences, sir?" asked a beleaguered man.

 

  "With my father, working in our interdimensional labs," said Christopher, looking uncomfortable in a business suit after spending months in the same shitty set of clothes.

 

The man raised an eyebrow and wrote something in his notepad.

 

"Do you enjoy working with others?"

 

"I teach kids how to play a children's card game. Does that count?" asked Christopher boredly. 

 

The man slowly nodded. A run-of-the-mill, 20 something loser, despite his otherworldly appearance and most likely high education.

 

"Do you have any experience with making sandwiches?" the interviewer asked. This question would seal the deal.

 

Christopher snorted. And then he erupted into hooting, rude laughter.

 

"Sandwiches are for peasants!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his face.

 

The man closed his notepad, glaring at Christopher.

 

"So that's a no?"

 

"Fuck no!" hooted Christopher.

 

The man stood up and shook Christopher's hand. "Perhaps you should find another place for a job. If you can't make even a basic sandwich, then I don't think Subway Sandwiches is a good place for you to be."

 

Christopher batted the man's hand away.

 

"Fine by me!" he sneered, 

 

With one last glare, the interviewer left the room, slamming the door behind him. When Christopher was finally able to calm himself down, he paused. Wait. Didn't Tron say that if he couldn't get a job, he'd get kicked out? Well...there was always a YouTube toy review to do....


End file.
